Confessions of an Age-Ten Drama Queen

To my sister: I broke your Sculpey statue. The one you wouldn’t let me touch because you were afraid I’d break it. You accused me when it went missing, but I’d stashed the evidence. The shattered remains of those poor little polar creatures are still in my room somewhere.

To my mom: The lock you put on the pantry didn’t stop me. All I had to do was drag over a chair and knock the hook loose. No modern booby trap could keep me from successfully completing my midnight granola bar raids.

(Also) To my sister: I put glue in your shoes. I had this wicked idea that you’d step in them and have sticky, glue-y feet. I forgot that glue dries, so I don’t think you even noticed.

(Also, Also) To my sister: I definitely stole some of your Halloween candy. You definitely did notice this one.